


Armour

by Galadriel



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Character Study, First Time, Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: Alvis was familiar with all kinds of armour: physical, spiritual, emotional. And as an Uncle, he had seen the secrets hidden beneath each kind. But John Jaqobis' armour seemed impenetrable. Or at least, the kind that was harder to peel away.





	Armour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valderys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, valderys! There's so much to explore in Killjoys that I always feel like I'm only managing to scratch the surface. Even so, I hope this story is at least a piece of what you were hoping for! <3

The vestments had always been a type of armour to Alvis. A uniform to slip on, a way to become the Uncle the people of Westerley needed. He could feel himself standing up straighter as the cloth caressed his muscles, flowing down his body, settling on his shoulders. He could feel his chest filling, with breath and words and love and something fiercer, something made of molten steel, something to keep him going when the pain of others became too much to bear. 

Not that it was ever too much to bear. Like the Tree, Alvis knew he was meant to shift and bend under the weight of all. Bend, but do not break. Offer shelter and succour and shadow for the desperate, the drunks, the miners and tunnel rats alike. Write their stories on his skin. Be the page upon which they were recorded and remembered, for now and for ever. 

And that was what he did. Provided the roots needed to keep the people of Old Town grounded, keeping their traditions and memories anchored in the earth beneath their feet; offered the reach of branches stretching to the sky, promising hope and a bright future and something more than the kiss of the Company's boot. He was at once a scribe of skin and a builder of bone, but the mettle that ran through his blood demanded more than serenity and compassion. It _required_ resistance: a paean of power for the powerless; a canticle for the Qreshi, who were most useful when they were dead.

The robes on his shoulders and the scars on his back reminded him of this. His duty was to dig down into the dirt, past a fortune of crystals, to find the truths of the Quad, of the Scarback faithful, of himself. His duty was to don his armour and defend the downtrodden, take on their struggles, and shelter them from their sufferings. 

Armour. He had seen more than his share of armour in Old Town. Often it was nothing more than the safety of the practical, woven or moulded over chests, arms, legs and heads, shielding bodies from accidents and violence. But more often than that it was the lilt of a voice, the tilt of a head, the half-smile on a pair of lips, the glint in too many eyes. 

Alvis had seen it all. The desperation of hope and joy in a joyless world, the familiar flicker of defeat, sorrow, and grief, all strung together in inescapable loops and chains, as much a prison as Westhole could ever be. Each one was its own defence, walls built against utter hopelessness, a strange satisfaction settling like a cooled crust over the boiling magma of anger and fear. 

These were the familiar faces of Old Town, each person's armour reflecting the abuses of the Company. 

And this was where Alvis lived, in the midst of war, forever walking tunnels filled to the brim with the haunted looks of warriors waiting, tightly-clad in the glances meant to ward off scrutiny by Security Officers even as they called out to Uncles and Aunts. Sometimes it was lonely, surrounded by those seeking solace, feeling the hiss and burn of another sinner's soul slicing across his veins, but it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction, one he had never found in the veins of photonic crystals deep beneath the earth. 

And then there were the days when Johnny came by. Few and far between at first, supposedly "Just a way to pass the time" between warrants, John accompanied him through the tunnels, a quick word and a quicker smile bringing a casual companionship to the ministering of souls. 

"Consider me a little extra firepower. I'm not sure that little claw of yours is going to get you very far in a fight." Johnny gestured at the blade in Alvis' hand, freshly anointed with Alvis' blood after the blessing of a tiny tunnel rat with dirty blonde curls. 

The girl had wriggled ever so slightly as Alvis gently passed his thumbs over her eyelids, her mother smiling down at her as Alvis spoke the words. Her mother seemed relieved, thanking Alvis for the sacrifice that would surely calm the girl's persistent cough, a deep-down shuddering that shook her whole body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. 

But it was John that brought a smile to the girl's lips, winking at her as he palmed a sweet, conjured from somewhere in his pockets, and materialized once again from behind her ear. She chewed on the square of gooey, powdered redness, the candy doing nothing to get in the way of her grin. Alvis may have been able to access the spiritual, but it was Johnny's simple magic that would keep her smiling until it was time for sleep.

"Did she seem especially dangerous to you?" Alvis wiped the blood off his blade, slipping it back beneath his belt once it was clean. A small pocket held a few supples to staunch the bloodflow: even ritual must have its practicalities. "By my count, this is becoming a habit, Jaqobis. You're here more often than you're not. And yet I still haven't found myself in need of your _firepower_." Alvis stopped to lean against the tunnel wall, the dampness of brick and waterlogged mortar almost immediately seeping into his back. He pushed away his robe, squinting a little as he examined the cut above his nipple. It was still bleeding, but its flow was sluggish and slow. A careful pass of cloth across his skin prepared it for the little pot of paste Alvis fumbled to open, but before he could apply the mixture, the container was plucked out of his fingers.

Johnny snorted as he scrubbed his free hand over the front of his shirt, then dipped his first two fingers into the pot. He leaned in, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in concentration as he examined Alvis' wound.

Alvis winced. Gun oil and whatever John had been touching down here was not something he was looking forward to having mixed with his paste. The sharp, pungent odour of crushed herbs floated upwards, tickling the inside of Alvis' nose, and before he could rebuke Johnny for his dirty fingers, those same fingertips were brushing lightly across Alvis' skin. He hissed softly at the way it stung his open wound, then found himself groaning softly and arching his back as Johnny's fingertips kept moving. 

"Maybe it's not firepower you need. Lucky for you, my medical expertise outstrips my weapons training." As Johnny worked, he hummed under his breath, a tuneless sound that was either bad whistling or even worse singing. 

Alvis shivered. For all Johnny was a killjoy and perpetually dressed in the top protective gear, his best armour was completely disarming. That mouth of his, either cracked open in a wide smile or talking circles around the rest of Westerley, kept the Quad at arm's length. He raised an eyebrow wordlessly, and was rewarded with that exact grin. 

Johnny shrugged. "Spend enough time with Dutch, and you learn all kinds of fun things." He chuckled as he smoothed an adhesive bandage over the cut. "By this time, I'm certified in all forms of fixing fuckups in the field." He patted Alvis' chest and held out the potted paste. "There. Guaranteed to stay in place by Doctor John Jaqobis, M and D. ...Unless you get it wet, that is. Or pick at it. Or move around too much so the bandage wrinkles, folds and falls off. So, really, you're good to go until you're not." He laughed again, this time licking his lips, his hand still warm against Alvis' chest.

Alvis found himself licking his own lips, unconsciously mimicking Johnny's movements. He reached up, covering Johnny's hand with his own, stroking the back of Johnny's hand. "Thank you." He smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on Johnny's mouth. "Although I'm not sure I need your medical expertise either."

Johnny blinked, and for the briefest of moments, something like disappointment and hurt slipped through the chinks in his armour. Then he shrugged, smiled, and blew right by it. "Right, right. 'Course. Can't imagine that your followers are all that comfortable with the RAC hanging around."

It was Alvis' turn to smile. "That's not quite what I mean," he said, as he curled his fingers around Johnny's hand. "I don't need your guns or your bandages." He tugged Johnny closer, satisfied when he heard the smack of the palm of Johnny's free hand against the wall behind him. "I don't need your ships or your science." He reached out and slid his own free hand through Johnny's hair, cupping the back of his head. 

Johnny's lips were warm and dry against Alvis', the skin ever so slightly chapped. He groaned quietly as he kissed Johnny harder, pleased at the soft sound of surprise that turned quickly into contentment. Before long, Johnny was leaning heavily into Alvis, his body pressed against Alvis', the pressure on Alvis' chest making the wound tingle, pain lacing the pleasure. 

Johnny's stubble rasped against Alvis' chin, the first prickle that Alvis knew would turn to burn. Yet it was still a monumental task to pull away from him, stall what he had begun. 

"I don't need your skills, John," Alvis murmured. "I just need you." He smiled to see the way those words made Johnny shiver, watching as the vibrations moved through Johnny's body. "Come on, then. There's a room at The Royale that needs occupying, and another soul that needs ministering." He looked up and down Johnny's body, then chuckled and grinned. "That would be you. In case that wasn't clear."

Dumbly, Johnny nodded, his eyes wide and his lips parted. It was a simple matter of a bit of shifting and a quick tug at Johnny's hands, and Alvis had the two of them propelling down the right tunnel. 

The trip back up was far faster than the way down; John's lazy swagger had been replaced with an eagerness that surprised Alvis. In twenty minutes, or maybe it was even less, they were somewhere far more comfortable, and a great deal drier. Pree opened the trapdoor after the first knock, giving them a quick look up and down as they clambered up and out. He didn't fail to take in Alvis' and John's hands, clasped together, and smirked as he nodded towards the stairway to the upper floor. 

"About time, you two," Pree chuckled, and as Alvis passed him by, he felt an encouraging pat on his rump. The surprise must have shown on his face, because John smiled at him and laughed. 

"He does that." Johnny shrugged. "But you can always ask him to stop."

That was a decision for another day, although Alvis found himself wondering how often Pree had felt John up. _That_ was most definitely a conversation for another day. 

Once they gained the second floor landing and made it to the room, there was no more time for thought. The door clicked shut, and a moment later, John had Alvis pressed up against it, a bruising kiss betraying his building need. Alvis groaned, letting the moment wash over him. He reached for Johnny, intending to wind his arms around John, pulling him close, but was startled when John batted his hands away. He made a noise in his throat in protest, but it quickly turned into a moan as Johnny gripped Alvis' wrists and pressed them against the flat of the door. 

It wasn't as if Alvis didn't remember the core skillset of a killjoy, but even so, it was easiest to define Johnny by his relationship with technology: an inventor, a hacker, and above all else, a tinkerer. But pressed up against the door, John's fingers curled around Alvis' wrists, Alvis was reminded just how powerful he was. He might not be as dexterous as Dutch nor as muscled as D'Avin, but he was not someone Alvis would want to meet in a dark alley. He twisted his wrists experimentally, and immediately, Johnny tightened his grip, breaking the kiss to nip at Alvis' throat. 

Alvis groaned. The sense of losing control, if only for a moment, if only for as long as he let Johnny keep it from him, sent a shiver down his spine. He had thought that first kiss in the tunnels made him hard, but John's teeth scraping gently at his throat, his hips rocking against Alvis' had Alvis' cock straining to be released.

He licked his lips. He could taste the film of dust that settled on everyone and everything in the tunnels, but also something sweeter. Sugar and... a slightly chemical taste, not wholly unpleasant. He grinned as he realized what it was: Johnny must not have been merely feeding the little tunnel rat sweets; he was sharing his own personal stash. 

Johnny looked up, catching sight of the grin. A smirk of his own graced his lips. "You're just now realizing that I taste of raw passion and desire."

"And dirt." Alvis chuckled. "Definitely dirt."

Johnny's smirk broke into a wide smile. "You'd think that, but no. What you've done is confused notes of desperation and nervous sweating with dirt. Not your fault. They're easily confused. You wouldn't be the first one to make that mistake."

If Alvis' hands had been free, he would have reached out and stroked Johnny's cheek, letting a gesture say what words could not. But words would have to do, pinned in place as he was. He parted his lips, struggling to find the right balance between wry self-depreciation and quiet support, something to offset Johnny's natural inclination to pinball between over- and under-confidence.

But John moved faster than Alvis. He released Alvis' wrists, sliding his hands down Alvis' sides, settling one hand on Alvis' groin, cupping and stroking as if testing the shape and weight of what awaited him beneath. A few fumbles at Alvis' clothes, and Johnny's palm was stroking up and down Alvis' shaft, pushing him to a hardness that was just this side of painful.

Alvis gasped, arching his back, pushing up and away from the door. He reached again for Johnny, and was pleased to be able to wind his arms around Johnny's shoulders, tugging him close enough that they were chest-to-chest. The contact lasted but a scant moment, though, as Johnny squeezed Alvis' cock gently, enough to draw a cry from deep in Alvis' chest, then slid his hand free and rested it on Alvis' hips.

If Johnny had given him more time, Alvis was sure he would be able to catalogue the calluses on Johnny's hands. If his touch had lasted just a little longer, Alvis would have imprinted it on his own memory.

But there wasn't much time to ruminate on anything, as John slipped from Alvis' grasp as he turned Alvis towards the door. Alvis heard a hesitation in Johnny's breath just before he murmured, "If I was looking..."

"The little cupboard beside the mattress." Alvis waved a hand blindly in the right direction, unsure if he should move from his spot. The air was cool on his neck as Johnny moved away, a little click and clatter alerting Alvis to Johnny's success in finding the small vial of oil.

John's body was warm against Alvis' as he returned. It had only been a handful of seconds between stepping away and coming back, but Alvis' skin had prickled with goosebumps while waiting. Patience was supposed to be one of his virtues, but he found himself in short supply at the moment. 

The boards creaked beneath them as Johnny slid a hand around Alvis' hip. Alvis thought about helping him untie the various fastenings, unfold the carefully folded fabric, but there was something rather thrilling in this little bit of service performed for someone whose life was dedicated to serving. He pressed his palms flat against the door, shifted his stance to give himself a little more balance. He was no blushing virgin, and knew quite well how preparation was always a better route to pleasure. 

The air cooled his overheated skin as Johnny finally exposed Alvis' ass. Alvis shifted and shivered, impatience overwhelming his endurance. 

When John finally slid inside Alvis, slick and slow and impressively under control, Alvis groaned deeply, the sound rolling out from deep in his chest, shuddering through every muscle. John's cock felt firm and thick, satisfying all on its own, but when he began to move...

Alvis cried out and gripped John, the feeling of fullness enough to push out every thought beyond feeling.

That seemed to be more than enough for Johnny, too, as his thrusts rapidly increased. Alvis' fingers curled against the door, and he rocked back into each movement, smiling at each moan he drew from Johnny. It wasn't long before his own moans joined the chorus, helped along by Johnny's hand, wrapped once again around Alvis' cock.

Each thrust had Alvis' nerves crackling, his body shivering and shuddering against the onslaught. He could feel the roughness of Johnny's trousers, dragging over the curve of each of his cheeks. Each sensation threatened to overwhelm him further, until he was sure he could no longer contain them.

Johnny's hand, his cock, the brush of his clothes against Alvis' skin. The feel of his body, pressed against Alvis, the smell of him in the air. 

He cried out, he was sure of it, but the voice sounded like John's. 

And suddenly, after far too much waiting, entirely too soon, Alvis felt himself falling. His whole body clenched, his hips jerked forward, and to his surprise, he had come entirely undone.

Even looking back, Alvis would never be sure how much time had passed. How many times he'd exhaled as Johnny leaned silently against him. All he knew was that they shared the same breathing, chests rising and falling in tandem, a final joining before pulling themselves free.

"Well. That and a beer will give you a decent buzz." There was a smile in Johnny's voice as he slipped out of Alvis and began tucking himself back in. "I'm no Captain Apex, but that doesn't mean I don't do a decent job."

Turning his back to the door, Alvis reached for Johnny's wrists, stopping him in the midst of righting his clothes. "Why don't you stay a while?" He chuckled. "I think there's plenty more of this... _interesting beginning_ to explore."

From the look on Johnny's face, he wasn't expecting an invite for more. After an internal struggle that played out in his eyes, he nodded, grinned mischievously, then dashed across the room to throw himself down on Alvis' mattress, bouncing gently up and down. "I suppose I could. I've always wanted to attend a sleepover. There's nothing I like more than talking about boys."

Alvis smiled. This was promising. Perhaps he could continue the work the kiss in the tunnel had already begun. Johnny's armour might live in his voice, but Alvis was going to do his damnedest to make the man wordless until every bit of it had fallen away.

And after that, once Johnny was truly naked and vulnerable, well, who knows?

Perhaps Alvis would be able to read the secrets imprinted on Johnny's skin. Perhaps there he'd find seed and trunk and branch and root, a map of memories, of the Mother, of something far beyond fear and anger, a little part of the sky captured and brought back to mix with the richness of the dirt.

Dirt. It most definitely tasted of passion and desire.


End file.
